


Wow, David!

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Bond is pleasantly surprised, Dom!Q, He knows what he wants, M/M, Oral, Q is a snarky little shit, Rimming, bottom!Bond, not quite BDSM, shower, top!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While following up on only the most unlikely rumor Bond had ever heard he finds his perception of Q turned on its head.<br/>And Bond on his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wow, David!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rerumfragmenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rerumfragmenta/gifts).



> I was asked by several people, mostly Rerumframagenta, for bottom!Bond and Rum specifically wanted to see Q with a big dick. So here you are. Writin during a 'Live Write' using Google Docs on 11.07.13.  
> Title taken from a work by Rerumframagenta on Tumblr.  
> Cover done by Rerumframagenta!  
> Uncensored version here: http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/66713988048/click-for-uncensored-version-while-following

 

There were a lot of things that Q wished for in that moment. Primarily, a weapon — preferably something blunt —, or if one were unavailable then some kind of clothing with which to cover his rather wet form. But, alas, all he had was a rather small face cloth and a scowl with which to fend off Bond’s smirk. With a roll of his eyes Q went back to wiping down his neck and chest. He’d spent the night at MI6 (again) and rather than sleeping had spent the last hour on the indoor running track. After working up a sweat and having moved from being sluggishly overtired to twitchy and excited overtired, Q had decided a shower was in order — let it not be said that he was the neck-beard, ‘fanboy-forcefield’ kind of boffin.

He hadn’t expected to find company in the showers, though he really should have given that Bond had been grounded after a rather explosive mission. The agent’s survival instincts apparently didn’t engage when facing overtired and underfed technicians who had a tendency to build weaponry when bored...with plastic cutlery and elastics no less. Q blamed his tiny surviving shred of hope for workplace propriety for his naivety.

“Q, did you know that you glow in the dark?”

One of Q’s eyebrows twitched but he refrained from turning and flinging the soapy cloth at Bond’s face. It was a near thing. “I haven’t been playing with radioactive substances this month, Bond, so I sincerely doubt it.”

The agent snorted from behind Q, likely just inside the doorway to the showers. “Now that’s something I’d like to see, though preferably from a distance and behind a safety wall.” There was the squeak of rubber on tile and Bond appeared to Q’s right in his peripheral vision as a fuzzy blond blob.

The showers in the MI6 locker rooms were open, with a dozen shower heads and knobs set into one tiled wall. Each shower had its own drain and were spaced roughly four feet apart. Bond leant against the wall several feet from Q and away from the misting water.

“What do you want, Bond? I’m not exactly prepared to assist you at this moment, if you hadn’t noticed.” He suspected Bond had, though the man didn’t often give much thought to the needs of others.

“In any other instance, Quartermaster, I would agree.”

Bond shifted and Q took a moment to duck his head under the spray of warm water, soaking his hair. He threw his head back and the heavy curls slapped wetly against his skull. Q absently added soap and scrubbed at his scalp, eyes having fallen shut to briefly enjoy what could have been a good wash and soak had Bond not interrupted. “What makes this different then? I have no tech for you to destroy, no data to hand off, and no mission objective to brief you on.” He rinsed his head and waved at his naked body, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. “Which I should think, what with your _extensive_ training, you should be able to determine.”

“Mm, I can determine plenty of things from the state you’re in, Q.”

Q paused in pushing back his fringe, caught off kilter by the seductive purr to Bond’s tone. He frowned, “Bond…” Attractive or no, Bond would have to try a fair bit harder than that if he were to try and get under Q’s skin. Q turned his head to hide the flush of his cheeks and the stirring of his loins as the older man’s attentions and pushed his hair roughly to one side.

Bond stepped closer with a chuckle, though still far enough away to stay dry. “Would you like to know what it is that I’m looking into, Q?”

“Not particularly and since I don’t have a cattle prod with which to shoo you away with, I imagine you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Right as ever, dear boffin. Now, I do believe we have a mutual acquaintance…?”

Q snorted and turned off the shower. He padded over to the bar by the doorway, shivering at the change in temperature, and snatched up a towel. He hurriedly rubbed at his cooling hair. “Bond, we work in the same bloody place, of course we know some of the same people.” So much for the great ‘super spy’ James Bond. Maybe the double-oh should be looking into retirement if this was all he could come up with for conversation.

“But how many Moiras do you know?”

Q stiffened. His hands stilled atop his head, towel hanging down to cover his face. Moira. Now there was a name he hadn’t heard in a while.

Back when Q had just been another minion he had gained himself a bit of a reputation in the office. His work was second to none, that wasn’t anything new, but he’d also been a bit...well, he’d liked to play the honeypot. Moira had been one of the few people he’d seen more than once. The sex had been rather good and neither had been interested in a relationship past relieving tension. Though the pillow talk had actually been quite informative.

Hot breath fanned over Q’s damp shoulder and he flinched. Spinning on one foot he stepped away from Bond and slammed against the wall. Bond stared down at the Quartermaster with one cocked brow, far too close for comfort. With a shaky hand Q pulled the towel from his head to rest over one shoulder. He glared at Bond furiously.

“Agent, make your point and make it quick before I — “

“Tsk tsk, Q. I’m not about to bite you.” Q snorted, Bond grinned. “Well, maybe not right now.”

“ _Bond_ …” Q warned.

“She’s a fan of comparison, have you noticed? I spent all night hearing about how my skin wasn’t as soft as yours or how my hands weren’t as long. That’s all fine and good, but what caught me by surprise was how she seemed to think that your cock was so much more impressive than mine.”

Q blinked stupidly. “ _What_?” He squawked.

“Exactly, Q. But, as I can see, she was most certainly wrong.” The smug derision in Bond’s voice made Q’s blood boil.

 _‘How dare he.’_ Q jabbed one slender digit into Bond’s breastbone, hissing, “And what gives you that idea?”

Bond stepped back, mildly surprised. He raised his hands, palms out. “I’m not looking to offend you Q.”

“Except that you are, and you have, you _prat_.” Q grabbed the towel and slung it around his waist, hiding his soft cock from Bond’s prying eyes. “As if this is a good time and place for this conversation.” Q turned and stomped — carefully — from the showers and into the changing room. Q dressed angrily with hurried tugs and was half into his trousers when Bond’s soft footfalls paused behind him. Interest be damned, Bond needed to be taught a lesson. Though the showers were certainly not the appropriate setting and the morning after a two day working binge wasn’t the appropriate time. Q grumbled under his breath and began tugging the legs of his trousers up his damp thighs.

“Then when would be a good time.”

He froze, hands grasping the wet wool of his slacks. Q’s mind raced; pride fighting common sense. Pride won out.

“Tonight. Nine pm. Be at my flat or forever hold your peace.” He tugged on the last of his clothes, slammed the locker, tossed the sopping towel over his head — and hoped it hit Bond in the face — and stomped out, catching Bond’s answer just over the thud of his shoes on concrete.

“Oh I’ll be there, Quartermaster.”

———————————————————

Bond didn’t disappoint. He was at Q’s flat at five to nine wearing a fresh suit and grinning like a pleased cat. Q held open the door for the agent, took his coat while Bond closed and locked the door, and gestured for the man to follow. The coat was left across a chair in the kitchen, Bond’s shoes on the mat beside the front door.

They wasted no time, neither man interested in small talk. Anger or not, there had been something simmering between them for months and the confrontation in the showers had brought it to the surface.

Q would need to remember to send Moira a bouquet of dildos for that.

Q snickered quietly and led Bond into his bedroom. If anything he’d get some — hopefully — fantastic sex out of this. Hate sex always was the best. With deft hands Q pulled off his tie and cardigan, watching as Bond quickly scanned the room and focused in on the lube and condoms set carefully on one bedside table. At the zip of Q’s flies the agent looked over. He blinked, a bit surprised, before following his Quartermaster’s lead and divesting himself of his clothes.

Soon enough they were bare, the white light from the overhead fixture exposing them both. As expected, Q was pale and lean just as Bond was tan and broad. They were perfect opposites with only a similar height in common — though Bond still topped Q by two or three inches.

Q’s eyes traced over Bond’s broad shoulders, firm pectorals and abdomen, and the multitude of scars that left him a battered canvas of experience. Bond did the same, taking in the sharp jut of Q’s hips and collarbone and the narrow dip of his ribs and trim waist. Though he possessed thick and dark hair Q thankfully lacked the dur of a yeti. He had a smattering of dark hairs across his chest and a slim trail from his navel to the neatly trimmed pubic hair nestled around his cock. His legs were equally sparse in hair and in such a way that it reminded Bond of chaps with how his milky inner thighs were bare and hairless. Q couldn’t see much hair on Bond minus the same trail from navel to cock, though he supposed that was due to the light and how pale Bond’s colouring was.

As they were, Bond’s cock most certainly _looked_ more impressive. It was thick and uncut and hung like a heavy weight between his legs, obscuring his balls. The skin was dark and looked velvety. Q licked his lips, excited to test and and see if Bond really was as delicious as he looked. Q’s own prick was small in comparison in its flaccid state. It was rosy in colouring and circumcised, the head darker than the rest even without an erection. His balls were fairly hairless and seemed to almost hold the length of his dick between them.

Bond looked Q up and down and smirked, thinking he’d already won. Q rolled his eyes and gestured at the bed. He had kept his glasses on, thinking he’d rather like to see Bond’s expression. “Well, I sincerely hope you know where to go from here.”

Bond snorted and ignored the bed, choosing instead to step into Q’s personal space until their lengths brushed. Both men shivered at the touch of skin on skin. One broad hand reached down and took up Bond’s length, giving it a slow squeeze and a tug. “I’m more interested to know if you know what follows, Q.”

Q rolled his eyes and mimicked Bond in taking up his cock. He tugged it disinterestedly until it began to harden, eyes locked onto Bond’s face. Their hands would brush every few strokes, though neither man looked down.

It was satisfying, watching as the agent’s cool facade warmed with a blush and his mouth parted to let loose short, light pants. Q wasn’t any better with his flushed neck and the small beads of sweat along his brow. Even with his feet braced Q felt himself sway a bit as the pleasure built and ebbed with his strokes and twists. Bond’s free hand came up and caught him around the side of the neck, hot and heavy against the overheated skin.

Q darted forward and took Bond’s mouth, lips sliding and grasping as he kissed the older man. Bond responded with a groan and dipped his head to try and catch Q’s lower lip. Q was too fast and instead took Bond’s between his teeth. He caressed the swollen flesh with his tongue, sucking on it and nibbling just this side of pain. Q drew back with a pop as Bond’s hand grasped Q’s cock, leaving him gasping at the hot, foreign touch.

Bond chuckled and ducked to suck bruises across Q’s collar bone. Q’s hand moved from his own prick to Bond’s and his free arm wrapped around the man’s back, fingers drawing furrows into his tanned flesh. Bond’s cock jerked within Q’s hold and the brunet laughed breathlessly. _‘So that’s how he likes it.’_ He caressed and scratched his way from one side of Bond’s back to the other, up and down.

Bond’s mouth left Q’s chest after nipping at both nipples and rose to mouth hotly along the tendons of his neck, lips and tongue sliding along the slick flesh. Q moaned and bucked his hips into the tight heat of Bond’s fist. Bond’s pleased chuckle tapered off into a strangled groan as Q raked his nail over a series of already swollen welts.

And then Q was gone.

Bond stumbled slightly as the brunet’s neck disappeared from under his mouth and the hot cock from his fist. Q caught him by the hips, having dropped to his knees. He licked and kissed around the V of Bond’s groin, leaving small bruises in his wake. He grabbed the man’s cock with one hand and downed half of it in one suck.

Bond groaned and bit his fist. His hips jerked and only years of training and Q’s steady hands kept him from fucking into the young man’s mouth. It was a near thing, what with how hot and wet Q’s mouth was around his prick. The suction was _just right_ and how his teeth grazed the sheath of his foreskin —

The blond very nearly choked as the head of his cock nudged the back of Q’s throat and the younger man’s nose pressed against his abdomen. Q swallowed around Bond’s length a few times, tongue swirling against the thick veins on the underside. He pulled back and took Bond’s prick in again, sucking and swallowing, sucking and swallowing until Bond thought he’d explode.

Bond fisted shaky hands into Q’s curls and drew the younger man off with a wet pop! Q stared up at Bond from his knees with lust blown eyes and licked his lips. Unsatisfied at being taken from his treat, Q leant forward against the tug of his hair in Bond’s grasp and licked at the beading precum at Bond’s slit. The agent hissed and tugged upwards, helping Q to stand only by the fist in his hair.

“I could fuck your throat all night, but turnabout’s only fair.” Bond dropped to his knees with nary a pop of joints. He kissed along Q’s flat stomach and enjoyed the way the muscles twitched and shivered under his lips. Q whined once as Bond’s nose pressed against the trail of his pubic hair and he inhaled, taking in Q’s clean, sweet scent. The agent pulled back as he reached Q’s prick with his mouth, eager to see what he’d be working with —

And froze.

“Bloody hell, Q.”

Q had the grace to blush.

His cock wasn’t at all like Bond had expected. It was still in proportion with Q’s slender frame, but was nearly as wide as Bond’s. He was also surprisingly long, given what Bond had seen hours ago in the MI6 showers.

In a fit of boredom, years ago, Bond had taken a tape measure to his prick. It wasn’t the oddest thing he’d done, though the agent was unlikely to ever admit to having actually gone through with it. He’d measured his length about five and a half inches long, which wasn’t at all bad. But now, looking at Q’s prick standing at attention, Bond was feeling a bit of penis envy. If he had to guess Bond would have to put the younger man at six and a half  to seven inches, maybe longer.

“I suppose this means I owe Moira fifty quid then, yeah?”

Q laughed above Bond’s head and sunk a hand into his short cropped hair, urging the blond to move closer. “And I owe her a thank you. Now get sucking, I’ve been a patient man.”

The agent glanced up into Q’s eyes and smirked, “Yes Sir.”

Bond’s right hand grasped the base of Q’s shaft and he took the head of Q’s prick into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue. The precum was salty and sweet and made his mouth water. He twisted his fingers around the base, spare hand coming up to caress at Q’s thighs before finding his bollocks and rolling them between his fingers. Bond sucked and lapped at the head, the tip of his tongue teasing the frenulum and sliding down the thick vein at the bottom.

Q moaned and bucked, both hands fisted in Bond’s hair for purchase. He panted, “Bond, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying.”

Never one to disappoint, Bond took as much of Q into his mouth as he could, hollowing his cheeks and twisting the tight skin of Q’s prick with his hand. Q’s balls twitched and flexed against the meat of Bond’s palm and just as they began to draw up the agent pulled back and off with a  lewd slurp.

“On the bed, arse in the air.”

Q blinked down at Bond for one moment before he barked out a laugh. “I don’t think so, Bond. You’re the one who started this, and you’re going to be the one to finish it.” Q mimicked Bond’s earlier grip and tugged his bed partner upright by the hair.

Bond stood and raised one brow. He was always on top, and for good reason. There was something about sinking into that too tight heat, being choked by a hot hole that all at once wanted him out and to drag him deeper. But he was anything if not accommodating. Bond crawled onto the bed  and arched his back so that Q got a good look. He made his way to the middle and settled onto his knees, arms crossed atop the duvet, chin perched on top. His knees were braced wide and his cock hung heavily between, bobbing slightly as he shifted to get comfortable.

There was a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped. The click of the lube bottle was next and a sigh as Q likely rolled the cool rubber over his flushed prick. Bond shivered at the wontan sound and hissed as a slick finger trailed between his buttocks and over the pucker of his hole.

Q didn’t sit, instead he knelt behind Bond. Only the wet finger touched the agent, caressing the tender flesh of his cleft and the thin skin of his balls. Q’s soft touch relaxed Bond enough for the ring of muscle to allow the tip to slip past before it clenched down and pushed him back out. Q chuckled. He played a game with Bond’s hole, teasing it with gentle strokes and pressing against the flesh around the furled skin. He’d slip the tip of his finger in now and then before drawing it back out at the moment Bond clenched.

The agent panted against his crossed arms, forehead slick, and tried to hold himself back. He wanted so badly to push back onto that elusive finger, to have it fill him, to clench down and keep it there. But Q had made it known that they’d be playing by his rules in this, not by Bond’s. So the blond stifled his urges and resorted to moaning his frustration into the duvet.

When Q’s finger slipped in next it didn’t stop at the tip. It pushed in all the way, accompanied by a slick, hot tongue. Bond yelled at the intrusion and bucked his hips, bearing down on the twin appendages. Q hummed from behind him and wiggled his tongue teasingly. He played fast and loose with Bond’s hole after that, adding fingers and lube until the older man wanted to cry from frustration. He wanted so badly to come!

Q’s fingers and tongue disappeared and Bond released a sob. His shoulders rolled and his arse canted back and up to follow the much sought after release those appendages were bringing him closer to. They were replaced by something broad and heavy that slapped wetly against Bond’s cleft. He moaned brokenly and pressed back, feeling the slick length of Q’s prick slide between the mounds of his arse.

“Hmm, you really do want to be fucked, don’t you, Bond?” Q’s voice was low and rough, a tone Bond hadn’t ever heard from the slim Quartermaster. Q’s hands grasped either buttock and squeezed, kneading the flesh so hard it _hurt_. “Tell me, Bond, what would you do if I left you like this, hmm? Finished myself off on your arse and back, maybe over your face and in your hair, but didn’t let you come. What would you do.”

Bond snarled into his arms and jerked back, ramming his arse into Q so hard the other man gasped and clenched his fingers into Bond’s hips hard enough to bruise. His prick slid along Bond’s cleft again, up and down, in short thrusts.

“I’d turn us over and fuck you raw, Q.” Bond hissed into the sheets, growling and frenzied.

Another chuckle, “Oh _good_ , because I’d hate to think you’d let this go unpunished. But how about we leave that for next time, hmm?” Q leant back as he spoke, releasing one hand from Bond’s hip to guide his swollen prick until the head nudged Bond’s flexing hole. “Because right now I fully intend to fuck you until you can’t see straight.” With a sharp thrust Q pushed past the ring of muscle and into Bond.

The older man gasped for air as the force of Q’s thrust knocked the wind from him. Q didn’t wait for Bond to adjust, instead rocking into Bond with quick, hard thrusts until he was fully seated. Then he pulled out past the flare of his corona and plunged back in. Bond moaned brokenly into his arms as Q fucked him with long, hard strokes, broken by short and sharp thrusts almost randomly.

The pleasure built and Bond tried to rise. He needed to push back, to meet Q’s thrusts. But he just as badly needed to stroke his own cock.

Q surprised him again by pulling out and shoving Bond onto his side. With unexpected strength Q manhandled Bond into the middle of the bed and onto his back. “Hands behind your knees, hold up your legs and don’t you fucking _dare_ let go.”

Bond moaned in response and did as he was told. He grasped the back of his knees, fingers digging in to get a better grip. Q shifted closer, his cock bobbing obscenely in their open air, glistening with lube. He grabbed the bottle from where it’d fallen to Bond’s left, snapped open the lid, and upended it; pouring a stream of clear fluid from a foot above Bond over his balls and down over his quivering hole. The agent gasped and threw back his head, mouth open in a breathless moan. The contrast of the cold lube on his hot skin was sharp.

And then Q was leaving over him, hands braced just below Bond’s on the backs of his thighs, cock sinking into Bond’s stretched hole while he groaned. Bond’s balls twitched as the feeling, drawing up, so close to the edge he could have screamed. It took some effort but he managed to bear down on Q’s prick as it pushed in. The brunet sighed as he bottomed out, balls pressed against Bond’s arse. He grinned down at Bond from behind a sweaty fringe of curls, green eyes bright and blown wide.

“I don’t suppose, ah, this is how you expected the night go to, eh?”

He didn’t give Bond time to respond and instead drew back enough to thrust in. Q fucked viciously, pressing down on Bond with his hands and knocking the wind from his lungs with each thrust. His grunts were sharp and made Bond’s cock twitch, untouched, against his stomach.

Q pulled out with a pop and shifted so that his knees were to either side of Bond’s hips, his inner thighs touching Bond’s arse. He pressed the head of his cock back in, fingers smoothing some leftover lube from Bond’s balls onto the stretched skin of his pucker. Q leant forward, over Bond’s chest, and braced his arms to either side of the older man’s head. The boffin ducked his head and pressed his nose against the flesh behind Bond’s ear. Q rocked slightly and Bond moaned at the shift of flesh of flesh.

“Wrap yourself around me,” he rasped.

Bond hurried to comply. His legs settled atop Q’s hips and his ankles locked together against his lower back, arms coming up to encircle Q’s neck and shoulders. Q sucked in a breath and _fucked_.

Bond’s eyes rolled back in his head as the first, vicious thrust his his prostrate dead center. Q had been brushing against Bond’s sweet spot on and off during their fucking, but not enough to tip him over the edge. But now he hit it with every brutal thrust. The slim man wasn’t a lanky boffin anymore. Now he was a machine, hips fucking Bond up the bed, the force of his thrusts causing the headboard to slam against the wall. The bed creaked loudly and and so quickly the agent absently wondered how it hadn’t fallen apart yet.

Q dropped his hips and fucked _up_.

Stars exploded across Bond’s vision and he croaked out a gasp. His cock jerked as he came in thick spurts over his chest and stomach, slicking the way for Q’s chest as he continued to fuck Bond through the older man’s orgasm. Q wasn’t far behind Bond. He kept his frantic pace until, with a strangled cry, his hips stuttered and he pressed himself as deeply into Bond as he could. His pants came out as breathy whines against Bond’s ear as he emptied his cock, seed spurting deeply within the agent’s hole with only the thin latex between them.

Bond lay on his back, stunned and breathless, feeling the thump of Q’s heartbeat and the pulse of each spurt as his cock emptied itself. He was thankful for Q’s slim frame as the young man eased his weight onto Bond, still supporting the majority of his own weight. They lay together in a sweaty, sated heap for several moments.

Finally, Q pulled back and sat on his haunches, thighs straining and face flushed. His hair clung to his neck and forehead in sweat soaked curls. He moaned as he slipped out of Bond, pulled off the condom, and deftly tied it before tossing it onto the bedside table. With a deep sigh, Q flopped onto his back and wriggled up to lie beside Bond.

“Well?”

Bond’s hazy mind took a moment to gather a reply. “Well what?”

“Have you concluded whether or not the rumour was unfounded?”

Bond thought for a moment longer, listening to the quick breathing of the man next to him.

“I think...I think I might need a larger sample size.”

“...Really?”

“It’s in the name of science.”

Q snorted, “Alright then, for science.”


End file.
